


don't get cut on my edges

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows what he is going to say before the words even form on his tongue, and so she closes her eyes, presses her body more firmly against his. His chest heaves with the weight of his declaration, and she grins despite herself – long overdue, indeed, and she wonders how long he waited for this. Longer than the six weeks it took to break the curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't get cut on my edges

She holds on to Henry, his embrace just as strong around her waist as he presses his face to her neck – it takes a few seconds, for Emma to understand she’s the one trembling like a leaf, not him. She screws her eyes shut a little tighter, refusing to let go. Even if no longer drowning in the darkness of her own mind, she is afraid of what will happen if she breaks away from their hug, what will happen if she lets her guard down for even a moment. She can’t take that chance, even with her mind unclouded for the first time in weeks, even with the white magic prickling just beneath her skin. Hope is a powerful magic of its own, and she can’t really spare it right now.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian whispers to her ear, hand against the small of her back. “Let’s get you home.”

Home is a foreign concept to her – a place or a feeling? she can’t even tell anymore – but she nods anyway, nose buried in Henry’s hair. The sun has set hours ago, and her body sags with the weight of exhaustion settling over her frail shoulders. She needs sleep, and food, and a bath, but mostly she needs Henry in her arms and Killian by her side.

Truth is, she has no idea how she makes it to ‘home’ – truth is, she has no idea why Killian considers the Dark One’s lair a home, of all places. She knows better than to question it, though, isn’t exactly certain she wants that kind of answers now. So she keeps her questions for herself, grateful at least that she will able to spend the few hours without her parents’ eyes on her – sad, pitiful, wary even still.

Dinner is a small affair, happening in a blur of colours and smells – the pasta warming her belly but little less. She swallows down a whine when Henry goes to sleep in one of the many rooms of the house because it would be reaching, even for her. So she kisses his cheek and wishes him sweet dreams, and watches him climb up the stairs and disappears from her sight.

“The lad will be all right,” Killian tells her – hand finding the small of her back once more, and Emma forces herself not to lean into his embrace. She fails, cheek against his collarbone as she heaves a sigh.

“I know…” she replies.

Henry isn’t the one she worries about – he is safe, now that she no longer is a threat. Now, she allows herself a few moments of selfishness, as if she didn’t get enough of those already. She allows herself to be scared for her own mind, to be afraid of the nightmares lurking around the corner, of the Dark One’s spirit showing up when she lest expects it. Henry keeps her grounded, Henry keeps her sane – well, he did. She has to start thinking about it with the past tense, now, no matter how foreign the concept is.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Killian goes on, hand travelling to grab hers.

Emma entwines her fingers with his, lets him pull her towards the stairs. She simply follows him, no question asked, to the master bedroom, only to stand in the middle of the room, confused as to what to do next. The bed is inviting enough, the pillows plump and the blankets soft, but her last night of sleep seems like eons ago now – what if insomnia welcomes her, what if the next few hours are spent staring at the ceiling?

“Emma?”

She shakes her head, focuses back on Killian and the worry in his eyes. “Sorry.”

He smiles, soft, caring. “Turn around, darling.”

She does so, uncharacteristically obedient, and sighs in relief when Killian’s expert fingers come plucking at the pins holding her bun up. They fall to their feet, one by one, until the braid is no longer up against her skull. Then he unties it, too, fingers running through her hair until it falls freely around her face and down her back – a moan escaping her lips at the feeling of his fingers against her skull, tilting her head back a little.

She swears he chuckles – the sound low and breathless as he presses a kiss to her neck, breath warm and tickling. This isn’t how she had pictured this evening going, but… But her blood boils in her veins, closing her eyes as yet another sigh blossoms between her lips.

“Yes,” he says, running his hand down her hair once more. “That’s much better.”

She turns around, if only to wrap her arms around his neck, finger playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. It allows her to move closer, breasts brushing against his chest, as her first tentative smile of the evening tugs up her lips.

“Yeah,” she mirrors. “Much better.”

He smiles too, as he leans his forehead against hers. Emma feels like breathing for the first time, in the comfort of his embrace – the reality of it all settling deep within her, slowly, tentatively. The Dark One is no more, only remains her. Only remains Emma. A chuckle escapes her lips, bubbling out of her gleefully, and then she’s holding Killian closer to her, feeling more than she sees the grin on his lips.

“Welcome back,” he whispers, and it sends a shiver down her shine, that deep staccato of his, the way he draws circles on her hip with his thumb. “Now, on to long overdue matters…”

She knows what he is going to say before the words even form on his tongue, and so she closes her eyes, presses her body more firmly against his. His chest heaves with the weight of his declaration, and she grins despite herself – long overdue, indeed, and she wonders how long he waited for this. Longer than the six weeks it took to break the curse.

“I love you, Swan,” comes at last, the words breathed against her mouth.

She leans forwards, brush of her lips against his – Killian doesn’t need more to kiss her, fast and desperate, as his arms wrap around her waist. She tilts her head to the right angle, opens her mouth to his, and sighs of contentment. There is a ‘at last’ there somewhere, breathed against his mouth, moaned in the back of her throat. He wholeheartedly agrees, if the replying noises he offers at anything to go by – kissing her like a desperate man and, oh, does she know the feeling all too well. She thought herself lost, thought she had lost him too, and the strength of his feeling hits her when she lest expects it.

She chokes on them, lungs emptied of air – or perhaps it’s because of the kiss, breaking away from it to breathe again. Her mind is dizzy, the good kind; even more so when he kisses her cheek, her jaw, her neck.

“I love you. Gods, I love you so much.”

She tugs on his hair, and he leans backward just enough to look at her in the eyes. An amused smirk curls one side of his mouth, and his eyes are darker now, his cheeks a little more red. Her hand travels down, brushing against his neck, his collarbone, to settle on his chest. She feels the pulse of his heart against her fingertips – beating for her, fast and steady.

“Prove it,” she asks, demands.

The dark hue of his eyes turn black. She doesn’t have to ask twice, for he pounces on her lips, this kiss hungrier, more desperate than the first one. She pours just as much passion into it, exhaustion flying out the window as she rises on her tiptoes – not that she needs much help, with the sky-high heels on her feet.

A groan of frustration escapes her when Killian stops the kiss, which of course has him chuckle. She expects something akin to ‘Eager, aren’t we?’ following, but he settles for biting on his bottom lip instead as he takes her in – wild hair, Dark One outfit, everything. She feels self-conscious under his gaze, until she remembers she has nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of – they went through hell and back together and now, more than ever, she knows he will never let her down. No matter what happens, he will always love and cherish her – something new to her, precious.

“The leather was growing on me, I must say,” he tells her as he reaches for the lapels of her coat. Emma rolls her eyes at his antics, even as she gets rid of the piece of clothing – it falls at her feet in a rustle of leather and fabric, and she has no qualm kicking it as far away as possible.

His own jacket follows soon, and then her fingers tremble as she unbuttons his vest – not fear, no, but anticipation having her entire body buzzing, and she laughs away her nervousness. Killian laughs too, nose brushing against hers when he leans forwards, his own fingers way more confident in their unbuttoning. It is only a matter of minutes, getting lost in kisses and each other, before both their shirts end on the floor too, and with them their pants – leaving them only in their underwear, facing each other. Emma forces herself not to fold her arms on her chest, especially under the intensity of Killian’s gaze – but he smiles, tender and loving, like he’s never witnessed more beautiful a sight. Her cheeks darken, even as she boldly grabs his hips.

Perhaps she pulls him towards her, perhaps he pushes her, but last thing she knows Emma falls on the mattress with a gasped chuckle that turns into a groan when Killian topples on top of her – elbow to her ribs and knee between her legs, graceful as ever. Not that it stops her from pulling him towards her, from losing herself in yet another kiss. Her lips are swollen already, her cheeks burning from too much smiling – it makes for a nice change, even if it throws her off balance a little.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against her mouth.

Even if it throws her off balance a lot, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders not to drift away from reality. This is real, this is right – not her own mind taunting her with visions of ‘could have been’, not the Darkness laughing at her in the middle of the night. Emma closes her eyes, leans her head backward; just enough that Killian gets the message and kisses his way down her throat, making her sigh and moans at the feeling of his beard against her sensitive skin.

He kisses the scar above her left breast – nothing but a mole she had removed, a lifetime ago – before he continues his way down her body. Getting rid of her bra takes a few moments of shuffling as she reaches for the clasps at her back, and then a few moments of blushing as Killian whispers a ‘gods, you’re perfect’ that sends a shiver down her spine, has warmth pooling deep within her belly.

And then his tongue darts out to lick at he nipple – her back arches, a moan dies on her lips, followed by another when he sucks on her sensitive flesh, lips and tongue and the barest scrap of teeth. His hand come to grab the other breast, finger drawing circles around her nipple, and it’s all Emma needs to lose it once and for all – all thoughts jumping off the window as she opens her mouth in a sigh of contentment, as she lets herself enjoys the present.

Soon, too soon, he stops his ministrations with a small ‘pop’ sound of his mouth. His lips are red, his hair a mess – her fault entirely, running her fingers through it before grabbing at it to anchor herself. Not that he seems to mind – not that it’s a bad look on him, either. Especially with that grin of his, the perfect side of sinful, as he offers a wink that has her rolling her eyes.

“Tease,” she says, but it comes out as a croak of sorts, her voice hoarser than she thought.

Of course, Killian’s smirk only broadens, proud as a peacock. “Not that you mind,” he replies and oh, how right he is. She doesn’t mind in the least, downing in the warmth of him and the desire his ever touch ignites deep inside of her. It is more that lust, thought, it is love and passion, and the feeling of a ‘finally’ she kept to herself for too long.

She grabs his arms to pull him up and into a kiss, but he shakes his head and, with his hand on one thigh and his hook on the other, pulls her legs apart. He settles between them, and drops a kiss on her knee – she almost comes from the sight alone, but that is before he kisses his way up her leg, licking and sucking while he’s at it. Emma has no doubt it will leaves marks, tiny purple bruises she’ll find tomorrow – they’ll have to be careful about that, even if the idea of someone seeing the hickeys is more than tempting. She needs to stop thinking like a blushing teenager.

“I do have to say,” he states against her hipbone, “I approve of this realm’s choices of underclothes.”

She laughs, a little. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Oh, love,” he replies around a feral grin, “You’ll be doing the singing soon enough.”

And with that he pulls her underwear down her legs, leaving her bare to him. In a swift motion, he puts her legs above his shoulders. She knows what to expect, of course, but nothing prepares her for his tongue, her back arching when he licks at her once, twice. She has one last reflex, a flick of the wrist and pulse of magic to sound-proof the room – they’ll need it, and sooner rather than later.

Much, much sooner, as she chokes on her moans while Killian works a magic of his very own with his tongue against her clit as he teases a finger at her entrance. It’s too much, but also not enough; too fast, but also much too slow. Emma doesn’t know what to think anymore, or perhaps she just stops thinking altogether – only count Killian’s tongue and fingers as he finally slips them inside of her, slow, torturous back-and-forth movements that has her breath dying in her throat and stars appearing in front of her eyes.

Her orgasm is building, fast and hard, as she grabs at his hair and guides him – he hums his approval against her skin, add a little more tongue, a little more teeth. And maybe it is because she’s been on edge lately, maybe it is because they’ve waited so long for this moment, but she comes undone only seconds later, screaming out her pleasure. Killian grins against her, even as his fingers stroke her from the inside, until her legs are no longer shivering around his neck, until she no longer feel boneless and dizzy.

Killian crawls back up, pulling her into a lazy kiss – she tastes herself on his lips, and grins against his mouth. “Is that proof enough?” he teases her, having her snort inelegantly.

“What if I say no?”

“Well then I’ll have to keep trying,” he kisses her cheek. “Again.” Her nose. “And again.” Her jaw.

“I like the sound of that.”

He nudges her legs apart, settles above her – the weight of him is comfortable, somehow, even if she doesn’t dwell on it for long when his hardness is pressed to her stomach and he licks his lips in the most tantalizing ways. But even that doesn’t get her attention for long, as she raises her hand to brush her knuckles against the leather of the straps keeping his hook in place. It goes all the way up his shoulder, and looks more uncomfortable than anything Emma has ever seen before. Anger surges through her, anger for Rumplestiltskin but – but she can’t afford to be angry at one Dark One without thinking of the sins of another, and it’s a rabbit hole she shouldn’t be jumping in right now.

She shakes her head, shakes the bad thoughts away – think lovely thoughts, a childlike voice laughs to her ear, not helping in the slightest.

“Emma?”

She forces herself to look back at him – fading is the desire in his eyes, replaced by concern and understanding, and she despises herself all the more for it. Why did she have to ruin things? Why does she always have to ruin things?

“Sorry,” she says, choking on the single word.

He brushes away the treacherous tears, the one blurring her eyes and her mind. She refuses to cry, but the weight of it all is finally pulling back on her shoulders, filling her lungs until she chokes on it. It’s pitiful, especially when Killian pulls her into a hug, one arm around her waist while the other pats her hair. She cries into his neck until she feels like passing out of exhaustion – he whispers to her the whole time, love and encouragement and reassurance, and she wonders why, wonders what she did to deserve that man in her life.

Killian moves them both so they lie under the blankets, her head pillowed on his chest. Listening to the beating of his heart helps, and so does drawing patterns on his bare skin. It takes time, long minutes of ragged breathing until she finally calms down, and then she kisses his shoulder, soft, careful.

“Was it that bad?”

It does the trick – she snorts a pathetic little laugh, and shakes her head. This man, this beautiful selfless man of hers, always knowing what she needs even when she doesn’t – a hug or a joke or a quip, a smile or a tease or a kiss. She doesn’t know what she would do without him, only knows that she would have been left in a much worst state if it weren’t for him by her side.

“Sleep, my love.” He kisses her forehead. “We have all the time in the world now.”

And sleep Emma does, for the first time in weeks – a dreamless, calm sleep that pulls her under before she even has time to yawn, snuggling against Killian’s side and closing her eyes. She sleeps for the first time in weeks, only to wake up in the early hours of the morning, when the sun is barely peaking in the horizon, the sky a deep, navy blue.

She wakes up in the early hours of the morning and crawl on top of him. They may have all the time in the world, but she wants to start now.


End file.
